RONIN
the white knight
light is easy to love.
"Any time, madame Marin," Ronin says with a respectful nod of his head, the hint of a smile curling across his lips as he recalls his time in the would-be fortune teller's tent. He's far from one to tell Nova she's wrong in her pronunciation (he's ordered many a dayquerry in his time besides, especially after a few warm up drinks), and the bartender doesn't seem to care either way, offering a polite nod and turning to whip up the cocktail in question.
Swirling his drink in his glass enough to make the ice clink, he raises his eyebrows at her question, unable not to look amused at her obvious disgust. "Spiced rum with ice - on the rocks, they say," he tells her, sliding it across the bar if she wants to be brave enough to try it. "It's sweet compared to some other liquor - there's some vanilla and cinammon in this one - but it's strong." And she almost definitely won't like it neat.
Swirling his drink in his glass enough to make the ice clink, he raises his eyebrows at her question, unable not to look amused at her obvious disgust. "Spiced rum with ice - on the rocks, they say," he tells her, sliding it across the bar if she wants to be brave enough to try it. "It's sweet compared to some other liquor - there's some vanilla and cinammon in this one - but it's strong." And she almost definitely won't like it neat.
show me your darkness.
